This is Gōlaka. Here, the Indo-Iranian nations are a superpower.

These are the Appalachians of North Carolina. The Great Smoky Mountains are nearby. Mt. Mitchell is, too. A warm mixed forest covers every peak and valley, from northern Alabama to northern Maine...and then some.

Throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, many suspicious types came out here to settle down, and avoid the more critical factions of humanity. Of these suspicious types, some have lived better lives. Others have become the very critics that their ancestors once came out here to avoid.

This story begins where the Great Smokies meet the rest of NC. At the right time of year, there's some great deer-hunting in these woods. At an even better time of year, there's decent bear-hunting. But of course, the bears here aren't anything like Japan makes them...or Sikkim, even...

Meet Harlan Kegel. He's dressed in camo, and he's armed with a bow and arrow. He's got a blaze orange vest on. He smells of cover-scent. But then, at least he doesn't smell like himself. If he did, all of his shots on today's hunt would be long-range shots. TOO long-range, that is...

From the 17th century, the Kegels settled in Raleigh...and often orbited around the capital of North Carolina in general...whatever it was at whatever time, if Raleigh wasn't their first. In some years, Harlan's forefathers were hailed heroes of the people. In others, they were the butts of communal jokes. Why, you ask? It's because they were witch-hunters...or witchers, if you will.

Before them, a lot of witches and warlocks also came to North Carolina, to evade the Anglicans' persecutions in England. That didn't last long, of course. After all, if the Salem witch trials happened, then you've got to believe that worse things happened to witches in other English colonies, from North Carolina to Tasmania.

Many bitches and witches, the pre-modern Kegels slaughtered. It didn't get much better before WWII...although the First Amendment did help, some. And of course, the influence of science rose, and made nerds, at least, aware of the prevailing reality that there's no such thing as magic. Since then, witches have passed into legend. And naturally, the witchers, which included the Kegels, lost their jobs for a while.

In North Carolina, the witches have probably passed into legend. But not only are they real, but some of them have likely become just as biased against witch-hunting patrilines as the patrilines once were against them.

One of the Kegels, since, has invented a fantastic way to improve prostate health in men. Alas, Harlan neither confirms nor denies kinship with this...philanthropist.

Harlan's faction of the Kegel patriline once migrated to New Hampshire. This is where Harlan was born and partially raised. During that time, his family lived near Concord. There, his father was a corporate manager...and still a bit of a scapegoat, considering that he was a conservative making a living in a blue state...or rather, in a blue state surrounded by blue states...including a few of the Canadian ones.

Some time later, his family moved to Swain County, where they have more family connections. Swain County is, perhaps, the least-populated county in the North Carolinian Appalachians. But of course, conservatism tends to like it that way. Socialism hasn't been a common thing in North Carolina since Holshouser.

In a tree, he waits. His camo hood is up. His camo mask is up. At one point, it's gotta happen. Patience wins the shy girl, as they say.

At last, a doe arrives. She looks like she's calved out at least three times. Her fawns are nowhere to be seen. But then, that's probably because they've grown up.

This one looks tasty. With velvet hands, Harlan draws an arrow.

He licks the arrowhead a few times, with careful licks, for it's very sharp. He'd hate for his tongue to bleed.

Alas, it does. Still, he licks. It's...a little hunting habit he's learned from his paternal predecessors. They liked to "mark their trophies" while killing it...as if skewering it with an arrow wasn't enough. But of course, the Kegel family didn't make these arrows. By licking the arrowhead, they've found a way to make their mark on their trophies; one that will bond the deadly blood of the hunter with the vulnerable blood of the trophy on impact...and long after impact...for as long as it takes for the accursed beast to die.

With narrowed eyes and steady breaths, Harlan nocks, draws, and aims. His dominant eye is open...and glaring down the arrow shaft...right at that doe's soft spot. Or, one of them, anyhow...

That doe's going down. She's going so down, she'll be lucky she's not invited to join Lilith's sorority afterwards...if Lilith even invites deer to join her sorority...or if she even has one. Funny; a lot of Christians are under the impression that if Lilith was truly evil, then words like "sorority," "sisterhood," and "friendship" wouldn't be in the dictionary that raised her.

He grins slightly, and releases the arrow. It flies halfway to the doe's side, and then...

The arrow hits some kind of barrier...and opens a portal. Through it, a strong wind gushes.

Harlan is initially alarmed, when it levitates him down from the tree, and through the portal. It sets him down on a dirt road just inside. Behind him, the portal vanishes. His arrow is nowhere to be found.

In his absence, the doe wanders on. The poor girl's got no clue that she was almost turned into venison by a witch-hunting scion.

On the other side of the invisible dome, the place looks like a ghost town. The only big building is an old Episcopalian Church. Alas, all of its sculptures have been beheaded, and all of its crosses have been turned semi-sideways, to resemble Xs, rather than lowercase Ts.

There's a cemetery nearby. Ravens and magpies frequent it. There are herb gardens elsewhere. Scarecrows stand among them.

Harlan can't help but feel paranoid, each time he sets eyes on one of these scarecrows. It's a crying shame; they're some of the better-looking amenities in town, he thinks...

Harlan looks around...and sees that he's been dressed into more revealing clothing...by his passage through the portal. Something's VERY wrong with this place, he thinks...

Suddenly, the chapel doors swing open. Harlan looks up, a bit paranoid. He's initially confused, when no one comes through them...

Before him, he suddenly screams, as five girls teleport into view, from nowhere. One is Japanese. Another is a time-displaced Thai...from the 14th century. Another is Sarawakian Malay. Another is an Israeli Hebrew.

The fifth, and their apparent leader, is a Saudi Arab. All five wear school skirts and black hose...if those aren't stockings. They're only witch students...but they're a long way along in their magical education. Their leader is pretty sure she can take on a witch-hunter...if the entire sisterhood can't.

These are the Weird Sisters. And they're at the top of their class at the Academy of the Unseen Arts...that abandoned Episcopalian Church that stands behind them. Magic, no doubt, is what keeps that church from caving in on itself. Otherwise, it would've a century ago.

The Saudi Arab witch marches forth...and meets the no-maj boy way too close. He's taller than her...for now. She looks up at him with a menacing glare.

"You take a great suicidal risk being here," she sneers, and slaps him in the face, "no-maj witch-hunter!"

"I have no idea," Harlan responds, "what you're talking about, Ms..."

"I am Andrea al-Aswad. This is my sorority. Were are gifted students, at the top of our class, at there Academy of the Unseen Arts. And YOU, no-maj witch-hunter, are a varmint in our most sacrilegious garden!"

"I still don't..."

"Don't try to deny it. My sisters and I are more learned than you think." Behind her, her sisters nod simultaneously. "You are Harlan Kegel, a bastard product of the Kegel patriline of witch-hunters. Your forefathers slaughtered many of our foremothers...all in the name of Jehovah, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit!"

"I swear to you, I harbor no such allegiances. Nor am I my forefathers. I'm just here to hunt big game. Now, if you'll just kindly tell me how to get back to the woods from here..."

Deviously, she reaches down, and pulls the front of his shorts away from his gonads. She looks down into the little hole she's made, looks back up, and grins. He smiles and shivers, shyly...

She slaps his face again, and drags him, by the front of the shorts, between two buildings. For some reason, her sisters don't follow her.

Back here, Ms. al-Aswad makes the no-maj boy even less decent than before, by vanishing some of his raiment. She slaps him on the chest, levitates him a meter off the ground, and keeps him suspended there for a moment.

Now, she turns around. She holds her finger out in front of her face. Onto it, she conjures an herb. It's a day herb. She smiles, leaves the herb on the tip of her own tongue, and closes her mouth.

She turns, and summons the no-maj boy back to her. She embraces him, presses him against a wall, and makes out with him, a bit.

He's not bad fucking material, she thinks, for a no-maj. She almost wants to do this forever. He seems to think so, too. Alas, she'd expect a warlock of her own age to put a bit more effort into this. Alas, Ms. al-Aswad's almost kind of glad that this one isn't.

And yet...she's disappointed, at the same time. She would've expected a witch-hunter's spawn, of all no-majs, to be harder to fight...

By now, he's swallowed the herb. Now, she steps back, and puts her hands on her hips...as she waits for the dusk transfiguration spell, that she put on that herb, to do its magic.

As he begins to writhe from it, she grins, and puts that levitation charm back on him. Now, he writhes in midair. Ms. al-Aswad smiles and watches, as Harlan transfigures, one appendage at a time, and one nth at a time, into a black rat. For it, he loses whatever raiment she's left him in. Now, if not for his rat fur, he'd be in the buff.

"THIS," Ms. al-Aswad tells him, "is what your kin do to mine. But of course, you'd change us into MICE. There's," she looks around her. "One of my Sisters is, in fact, a mouse...courtesy of one of your fellow witch-hunters."

In midair, the rat thrashes and squeaks.

"O, don't be such a defense attorney! I'm not done yet!" Now, she examines him, and puts her finger to her mouth. "Sadly, though," she admits, "I can't say the rat look looks too much better on you. I think I like you better as the no-maj. But of course, I wouldn't want to lose control over you, so..."

She casts a few more spells, and changes him back into Harlan. Alas, this time, he's a thousandth the size he was before. He's also in the buff. And his cock is hard.

Now, like a giantess to him, Ms. al-Aswad giggles. "THAT'S more like it. Not to worry; I've transfigured your witch-hunting parts into a less harmful substance. Now, you will not turn any of my sisters into mice."

She reaches out, and makes move to pluck him out of the air by his erect cock. She misses each time. Her hand is like a snake trying to strike a mouse.

She giggles. "You'll just have to be a rat of my own, I'm afraid." At last, she scoops him out of the air, and holds him in the palm of her hand. "But first, I think it's only fair I show you to my Sisters. We, after all, have NO secrets!"

With that, she teleports back into the street. Now, Harlan's on the ground, and Ms. al-Aswad towers over him.

All around her, her four sisters arrive, and complete a circle around him. He's surrounded...by stilettos, stockings, and the upskirts of school girls' skirts. Their hands are on their hips. Harlan's like a bug to all of them.

"Behold, Sisters," Ms. al-Aswad tells her sorority. "He's a witch-hunter...who's been ratted on by his own rat magic. What, now, shall we do with him?"

Tiny and nude on the ground, Harlan sits on his knees and shivers. Never have five girls humiliated him so much. He, of course, didn't even know witches existed until he dared go deer-hunting today.

"Well," the Japanese one says, "as much as I love that cock of his," she casts a spell, "it might get old after a while...and not to mention hideous."

With that spell, a new pair of briefs conjures itself, all over Harlan's bum. They're blaze-orange...for now. Harlan expects his future briefs to be pink...if they leave him alive for much longer.

"I've no maternal ambitions," the Malay one admits. "I think I'll do this," she casts a harder spell, "to him, too."

Harlan falls over, aches, and cries out, as the Malay girl casts a vasectomy spell on him, sterilizing him. Harlan has a hard time imagining why that's necessary. He wouldn't expect any sperm cell of his to be strong enough to unite with a human egg cell...let alone an egg cell of another species. Not that he'd ever want one of his to...

But of course, they're girl witches. They might not be bimbos, but Harlan's pretty sure the bimbo's somewhere in their pedigree.

The Jewish girl grins. "I like him." She looks up. "I say we keep him."

"And share him," the medieval Thai girl agrees.

"Of course," Ms. al-Aswad decides. "He can stay with our sixth sister. I'm sure she could use the company." She narrows her eyes. "And she'll be relieved to know, I'm sure, that she's been indirectly avenged."

With that, Ms. al-Aswad banishes their new pet: the tiny de-winged witch-hunters' spawn. Harlan vanishes, and reappears in a mouse cage.

Here, he meets his roommate. One of his predecessors, if he'd dare call them that, once turned her into a brown mouse. On the flipside of that coin, she was Afghani Dari (i.e. an Iranian from Afghanistan). Her family once came to North Carolina to avoid the war. Her father, believe it or not, was a no-maj SOF commando at Camp Lejeune. Or technically, he was actually a privateer; an al-Qaeda man paid by anti-terror forces to go to war with his own brothers, in exchange for a pardon. Sadly, he was killed working for that pardon.

Afterwards, they tried to deport this sister and her witch mother back to Afghanistan. She sacrificed herself so that her daughter could escape. In Appalachia, the witches found her, and the Weird Sisters befriended and confirmed her.

Sometime afterwards, she made a no-maj boyfriend in Buncombe County. He wasn't from a witch-hunting patriline, but he had a friend who was. All the friend had to do was suspect. Once, he voiced these suspicions in her presence. He turned his back. When they all turned back around, she was a mouse.

Here, the Sister uses her remaining magic to communicate her life story to her new...unexpected roommate. Via this, she also now knows Harlan's story. Hence, she'd seriously question her Sisters' decision...if only she could talk. She thinks she might be developing telepathy...but it's not coming along as quickly as she'd like.

Nonetheless, Harlan is now the Weird Sisters' captive. He dreads what they'll do to him, in the time that follows. And yet, at the same time, he also anticipates it... I mean, let's face it; how many guys back in Swain County can honestly say this has ever happened to them?